Red Uprising

Prologue

Y/N POV

It's 3am, and my bare feet lead me down the corridors of the Avengers compound. The hallways are empty, the night still and silent.

At first, my feet had been seeking company, offers of coffee or meaningless words. A kind expression, words of comfort, or reassurance. My eyes had been seeking a friendly face, Natasha, Yelena, Wanda, Peter... christ even Tony would have done.

Now I wander looking for the silence, the stillness, the solitude. I am looking to be alone in the safety of a familiar place. Desperately seeking a place my guard can slip, my body can give in, and my mind can rest, away from the demons that have tormented it for so long.

More than anything, I seek an end to the pain and suffering, but while it would be so easy to give in, that would also mean defeat, and that's harder to accept than the end is.

A sound behind me makes me spin on my feet. I expect to see Natasha, coaxing me back to bed or Wanda, hot chocolate in hand, and a listening ear on offer. Only the room before me is empty and it isn't the compound, its dark and dingy, a smell of damp in the air, the floor below damp and a cold chill in the air making my breath visible as my mind struggles to understand.

The sound of a door slamming nearby jolts my body awake. My head slams back against the metal table below me, my body restrained and unable to move. Quickly, my mind catches up, everything finally making sense, much as it has every time I've been awoken over the long months since I last saw the compound.

I have no idea how long ago that was, at first I'd attempted to keep track but the constant artificial light, lack of clocks and the fact I'm never left to sleep for more than a couple of hours at a time have made it impossible to even guess.

My body is weak and frail, the pitiful meals I am offered barely enough to sustain me. Dirt and grime coat my skin, an accumulation of the months without regular access to water or soap. I'm vaguely aware I must look awful, but right now, it is the least of my worries.

Beneath the dirt, a patchwork of scars litter my skin. New additions have been gained since arriving here. I've long since lost the ability to heal along with every other power I possessed. Whoever the raven haired girl was, they continue to keep her close, albeit mostly out of sight.

I can hear movement behind my head. I have no room to move or make eye contact, and it's been months since I gave up trying to communicate. They don't respond or acknowledge my existence.

I feel pads placed on my head, cables trailing over my skin. I know what is coming but have no way to prevent it or prepare for it.

Above my head, a monitor flickers to life. At first, I close my eyes, knowing what it will show, except the sound is different. I open my eyes and watch. As always, the screen is filled with footage of the Avengers. Only this is new footage, I haven't been shown this before. The compound is full, bodies mingling everywhere, clearly a Stark party.

I look for myself in the footage, expecting to see myself at the bar with Nat, laughing with Wanda or even dancing with Carol, but as I see the faces before me, I notice subtle differences. Steve's hair is grown out, a beard covering his chin. Bucky's hair is shorter, no longer falling into his face. Bruce looks older, as if aged drastically by the months I couldn't count. The faces continue. They smile and laugh, drink and dance, embrace and socialise. The realisation reaches me that I won't find my face in this footage. This is new footage, this is their lives continuing as I lie strapped to a table, bloody and beaten. I've been holding out for a miracle, but the miracle gave up on me.

Despite myself, a tear falls from my eye, tracking down my face. I hear the sizzle of electricity a split second before the pain engulfs me. As my body seizes and convulses, straining against the restraints that bind me, I fight for as long as I can. I fight, hoping to win, to outlast this torture even knowing I never can, and even if I should, another will replace it.

No matter my efforts, as the monitor continues to play a torture far greater than the pain of the electricity, my brain gives in, and finally, as the light fades, I welcome the darkness.